


Tied

by Tigole Bitties (CrazyM)



Series: Moicy ABO stuff [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ABO, Alpha!Moira, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/F, Hate Sex, Self-Hatred, Unplanned Pregnancy, g!p moira, omega!mercy, subtle smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-27 16:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21394870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyM/pseuds/Tigole%20Bitties
Summary: Moira is in a rut and has run out of blockers.Angela is dealing with being in heat.They choose this time to get on each other's nerves.Mistakes are made.
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: Moicy ABO stuff [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576501
Comments: 9
Kudos: 109





	Tied

**Author's Note:**

> Why are you even reading this? No seriously. Why?
> 
> Don't read this if it ain't your thing.

Moira's hands jitter as she rummages through her drawer, throwing the items to the side in her frustration. There was no way in hell. She wasn't this careless ever.

She slams the first drawer close and then pulls hard on the second one, making the poor drawer hit the limits of its rails and waver dangerously as she madly ruffled through it. She comes empty again, opening the last one. She's more full of disbelief than frustration at this point.

A rut was weakness. A rut was a clouded judgement. A rut was hiding yourself from prying eyes. A rut was she being a threat to an entire demographic of people.

But what was worse was she didn't have any more scent blockers left. The last of it was on her, but it was a pretty generous amount which would last her a few more hours. But that was it. There was no way she was going to be in public like this, carrying her own cloud of pheromones making people uncomfortable. She would have to take the rest of the day off and waste it away mindlessly jacking off like a fucking animal in her quarters.

Everyone used scent blockers in this day and age. It was something as normal as puberty. You wore it to conceal. Your body was yours to deal with, no one else's business. 

She hated her condition. She hated biology itself. She hated how she could be reduced to a mindless animal on the whims of her body. This hate was what made her study genetics in the first fucking place. So she could conquer biology. Bring her body under her own control. Not be compelled to breed anyone who could carry an offspring. She hated how there was an entire group of people who were bound by their bodies to do nothing but submit to people like-

The door flies open.

Angela Ziegler stood in the doorway, looking dapper in a pencil skirt with a blouse and her doctor's jacket, finishing the look off with heels, filling the room with a crisp tap-tap-tap as she made her way to the table. She smelled like expensive perfume and Moira is hit with intense longing for a wild moment, to be able to not stink of need and want and lust. But her meditation is interrupted when she notices the files in her hand.

Fuck.

Angela closes the door and slams the files on her ransacked table. Her face is alight with fury.

"Experimenting on human subjects?" She says with thinly veiled Anger. She gestures to the ransacked office. "I get that you like to ruin your office, but don't ruin people's lives!"

Moira's anger rises, bubbling and searing, like acid. But she uses all the patience she has left.

"Doctor Ziegler-"

"Don't 'Doctor Ziegler' me!" Angela hisses. "Your practices are unnaceptable!"

Moira didn't know the woman much except what the public did. She was celebrated, she was brilliant and she deserved immense respect for what she had achieved. She was also highly protective of her workspace, her values. Moira had committed a double offense on Angela's expense, and she felt she deserved this anger.

She would have apologized on any other day, but today was not when Angela would get that privilege. Not when she was this frustrated, this jittery.

"You do not control me, Ziegler." She growls. "Just because you put on some expensive perfume and walk into my room with your fancy clothes and your doctor's jacket doesn't mean you hold power over me."

Angela flinches when Moira swipes the files away from her hands.

"I'm not here because of my appearance!" She protests. "I have a doctorate!"

Moira decides this is where her patience ends. She stands up with a force that makes Angela flinch again. Moira makes a point by picking up the files, feigning a desire to return to it later to tick the doctor off, but she knew she wasn't getting anything done today.

"I would definitely like to compare your degrees with mine, but today is not the day, I'm afraid. Excuse me, I have some matters to attend to." Moira says and storms out of the office, pushing Angela out of the way. Her frayed nerves were barely holding at this point. 

*

Angela had enough of Moira. She would not let that woman belittle her. Especially not during her heat, when she had absolutely no patience for anyone's misdemeanor.

And Moira's ridiculous mocking was even worse. Angela was not going to let her get away with this, even if it meant screaming at the woman outside her own door. She would make a scene of it.

Angela sometimes marveled at how petty her heat made her. She was known for being incredibly fierce, only because she didn't want anyone to even doubt that she was an Omega. She hated people enough as is, who dismissed her sometimes because of her age. Announcing to people that she was an Omega would just give people more ammunition to disregard her.

Admitted, Angela deeply respected the biological aspect of being an Omega. They were carriers of life. They had extremely strong maternal instincts. Angela knew it was partially her extremely strong maternal instinct that pushed her to be a doctor, to join Overwatch on its field missions and be there herself to help people.

Of course, every Omega also had the instinct to be subservient, to recieve. Angela did not mind her side of biology. At all. She just had to be careful to not let anyone close during her heat. It wasn't like she didn't want to carry offsprings. She wanted it with the right person. It was out of her power to not look at an Alpha and evaluate them as a potential sire.

This wrenches her thoughts back to Moira. Experimenting on human subjects was unethical. It did happen, and a lot too, but it was always for experimental medicine. Angela had seen the files. It was to change the genetic makeup of the DNA. Needless to say, it was dangerous. 

Angela raps on the door and hears rustling and then growling. The door slides open, but only a little. Moira looks at her with disbelief more than anything else.

"Doctor Ziegler. Can you please choose a different time to get on my nerves?" Moira says, her voice even in a way that sounds scary.

Hate bubbles in her stomach. Moira always found ways to tick her off.

"Your nerves?" She says and scoffs. "You dare to belittle me and tell me I'm getting on your nerves?" 

Moira groans. Angela was being purposefully loud, to make a scene.

"Please do not make a scene." Moira says, and it actually sounds like a request. Angela feels a pang of satisfaction. She had the woman under her thumb. She had to press the advantage.

Angela's hand closes around the door and she yanks, but is met with resistance.

"What are you doing?" Moira asks, and now there is fear in her eyes. "Is there a need for this petty behaviour?"

"Open the door!" Angela says. "Are you doing more unethical experiments?"

And suddenly, the door is let go. Angela stumbles inside. The exhaust fan is running at full lick.

"What is it, Doctor?" Moira says, clearly irritated.

"Why do you have such disdain for me?" Angela says.

"Your god complex sickens me." Moira replies with thinly veiled hate. "That anyone except you is inherently wrong."

"And you can never be wrong?" Angela counters.

"I did not say that."

"Then why do you discredit my opinion every time?!"

"Because you barge into my goddamn office and shove it down my throat!"

"The nature of your work asks for that kind of response!"

This pushes Moira over the edge. Angela now has Moira's hands wrapped around her throat.

"Shut up SHUT UP!" Moira growls. "You don't know any of it."

There is no pressure behind the fingers. Its a warning more than anything else. Angela gasps, and then the scent hits her. The overpowering musk that radiates from the scientist in waves. Inhibition is gone. The Amygdala was working overtime. The pit of her stomach flips.

Something in Moira changes too. As if she's realized.

*

And then there is silence. Everything stops. Angela is pinned to the wall, her eyes wide, her pupils dilated, her mouth ajar. Moira holds her up, Angela's legs around her hip.

Its too much to think of with a sane mind. They were professionals, colleagues in the loosest of sense. Overwatch had a policy against these actions. One that often got people fired. There were people who would hear of this. There was the news. There was the media. Then there was Angela. This changed things. So many things. Too many things. Do they go back to hating each other? Do they date? Or will this be a one-time thing? Forgotten under a mutual agreement and never discussed about ever again?

But its all up in flames, like a lit matchstick to a stream of propane. Their minds are left behind once again by their bodies as instinct takes over. Lips collide, hands roam. 

Angela's lip wavers when her blouse parts under Moira's hands, as if she wants to say something. Moira cuts her off. Stop speaking. Don't give this words. Don't quantify this. Don't give this a name. As if saying something would make this irreversible, make it solid, existing, provable. But even through it all, a beacon shone through. Moira is no longer in control of anything. She can only watch as her eyes meet Angela's. Angela must have read her concern, the question through the forceful look. 

Something escapes from the depths of Angela's throat. Guttural. Basic. Primal. Moira's mind comes up empty, but her body knows. It answers in kind, when their clothes are discarded to the floor in unrefined, undignified haste. It guides her to meet Angela, to push in. Her pleasured hiss is delicious, the perfect stimulation to a mind clouded in a lustful haze. 

The world dissolves.

Angela is suddenly the only thing that exists. The skin under Moira's fingers is touch. Her cerulean blue eyes is sight. Her moans is sound. The way she moves, between Moira and the wall, its beautiful in a way that can't be described, its radiant in a way that can't be measured. Her skin feels on fire when they spill on to the bed in the interest of efficiency and it works with brutal effectiveness. Deeper. Harder. Everything is now a singular point of light behind her closed eyes.

Her ears pick up something, the first voluntary sound Angela has made since their minds took leave. The break in the sound, and the urgency of the tone indicates its something she needs to know. But with the way her ears throbbed, her body was on fire and the pit of her stomach was coiling, she didn't have enough in her mind to process. But her body understood the pleading undertone hidden under the urgency. 

Moira can't take it, the way Angela looks so pleasured, the way she's giving all the attention to her. The way their eyes lock. Moira growls, and buries her face into the soft skin where the shoulder and neck meet. Angela cries out as Moira begins moving as fast as her body would let her. At this point, she doesn't know if she has the ability to form coherent words anymore, so she growls nothings into the skin with each stroke, devolving into an animal, Angela's skin, her pleasured moans, her scintillating scent fueling her.

After all, Biology's habits are hard to break.

*

Angela wakes up first. She looks over her shoulder, praying that last night was nothing except a wild fantasy. But there is that red head of hair, and there is that arm around her midriff. Moira is sleeping soundly. She must have been tired after dealing with the rut. 

All it took was one whiff of Moira's pheromones to send Angela into a frenzy. She curses herself. Sleeping with the enemy. Textbook sleeping with the enemy.

She couldn't deny the fact that she loved it. She loved it no matter how much she fought it. She loved how Moira's fingers roamed her skin, she loved how Moira claimed her. But it hadn't escaped her that Moira had fought her own body. Practiced restraint. Not submitting to her feral nature. Waiting to get consent. And even when Angela had said yes, there was no scratching, no biting and most thankfully, no marking.

But the fact of the matter was, Moira was in a rut, she was in heat. Things happened. And now she had life budding inside her.

Angela didn't know what to do now. She didn't know what she would say to Moira. This had changed too many things. They weren't even colleagues to the true sense of the word. They shared a lab, bickered and bore each other's existence. And now she was in her bed. She decides she needs to get out. She needs to escape. She needs to run. She needs to make sense of this before she decides to face Moira. Panic sets in when the true extent of their actions hits her.

She wriggles out of the embrace, puts her clothes on as fast as she can, and sprints out of the quarters with her heels in her hands. She is lucky to find the halls deserted on her way to her own quarters. She quickly strips and showers, scrubbing hard, getting that smell off her. She needs to separate Moira from her body. Immediately. She would think of the pregnancy when her mind had calmed down. When she had food in her. When she was free of Moira's overpowering scent.

Moira wakes up to find her bed empty, Angela's scent lingering, but only just. She thanks fate for a second, and then mashes her eyes. Her body had defeated her mind once again. She had affected Angela catastrophically. She curses herself. If only she had locked the door. If only she hadn't stood her ground. It was all her fault. And now she had shoved a highly respected doctor, a brilliant scientist into something she wasn't even asking for. Moira knows Angela would make a wise choice and take contraceptives. She was a brilliant doctor, and had her head screwed on right. 

Moira spends the rest of the day unencumbered by her body. She actually gets work done, and manages to actually make progress on the experiment whose files Angela had so gracefully dropped to her office yesterday. Her mind roams to the doctor. She hadn't seen her all day. She wonders what Angela was doing. She loved to be in the lab.

Her questions are answered when she hears the familiar voice while perusing a sample under the microscope. Its all kinds of strange to hear it now. The association with the voice was now shaky. But the voice and tone was even.

"Can I talk to you?"

**Author's Note:**

> Happy? HAPPY ARE YA?!


End file.
